Of Cabbages and Kings
by Talia Fisher
Summary: In the after-math of a war on the wizarding world, were Voldemort conquered and massacred many, the remaining witches and wizards have set up new lives as Muggles. Ginny, 24, has a successful job in the City. She has lost contact with all of her friends a
1. The Cappucino Years

Of Cabbages and Kings - Part 1

Author's Note: Well, this is my little piece of weirdness for the week. It's potentially part of a new series (I wrote it, having got bored temporarily of The Long and Winding Road). It's strange, so take it all with a pinch of salt. Please review, and tell me whether I should continue it or dump it, into the dark recesses of abandoned fanfics… Thanks for reading. Talia xx

Ginny irritatedly brushed her hair out of her eyes. As a little girl, of course, she had worn nothing but two fat frizzy plaits, that were tied with blue satin ribbon and swung around her rosy cheeks. Now, aged twenty-four, she had a sleek bob, cut just below the nape of her neck with feathered fronds bobbing across her forehead. The fiery red had been tamed by a good hair-dresser, and dulled to burnished copper, highlighted with touches of golden blonde. The freckles were still there, but nearly concealed under her make-up. Her body was as slender as it ever had been, just taller, with a slight trace of rounded hips and small breasts, under the grey Chanel suit. It was a beautiful suit, pearlish in colour, with a long jacket that came to her mid-thighs, and a matching skirt that skimmed her knees. In such a job, naturally she had to look smart, and her large pay-packet more than covered such extravagances. 

Ginny worked in PR, organising functions and send-offs for companies with more money than sense. In truth, being practically at the top of the career ladder already, all her job amounted to was making a phone call here and there, drinking endless cups of coffee, and occasionally dealing with unfortunate situations of 'letting people go' from the company. Ginny worked in a high-rise office block in the City, and frequently went to premieres, celebratory parties and of course her own creations. The most recent had been a great success; the opening night of _Mirage_, a swanky new restaurant in Knightsbridge. She recalled the night in her mind; she, in her tenth LBT, with Pied a Terre black velvet mules, and a fabulous ornate butterfly pinning back her hair. She'd bought it from Harrods; stunning, with rubies in the silver. _Virginia Taylor and David McCarthy_ the sign had said, hanging on the new restaurant's wall. Of course, Taylor wasn't her real name, but she had been advised by several people in the past four years, who knew the game much better than she did, that Weasley simply would not go down well. It was like show-business, in a way… 

Tri-wings, was the name of her company. Well, not strictly her company, of course. David had established it, and she had clawed her way up the ladder to co-own it with him. Breaking all the rules along the way. Well, whoever said she was a nice little girl, anyway? She and David weren't really going out, of course. He was just a casual shag, when she felt like it. He'd looked particularly handsome at the opening of _Mirage_, in black tie, naturally. That party really had been something. Their best yet, many people had said. Ginny had rubbed shoulders with a whole range of people, from AA Gill, to the latest teen Pop group sensation, no doubt entirely manufactured by Polydor. 

Ginny snapped back to reality as her Nokia 8210 sang out from her desk.

"Hello, Taylor speaking," she snapped into the phone. "Ahh, yes. Yes. Of course. What was your intended expenditure bracket…?

*

Ginny tripped down the white marble steps in front of Trillington Block, where her office was housed. She walked effortlessly down the street in her black high heels (Armani), and expertly tossed her Coffee Republic cup into the nearest litter bin. She turned into King's Road, and slipped into the tiny _Pret a Manger_ that was handily on the corner. The deli café had become her Mecca in recent years, and she couldn't resist smirking at the Burger King across the road. As usual, it was nearly empty. No self-respecting city type would be seen dead in one of those burger bars…

"Half-fat de-caf cap," she recited to the young girl behind the counter, noticing her greasy hair concealed under the red baseball cap, her huge unsightly gold earrings, unfortunately on show. "And an almond croissant," Ginny added, picking one out of the wicker baskets in front of her.

"That's four pound ninety-eight," said the girl, shaking labourious amounts of chocolate powder on the cappuccino.

"Go easy on the chocolate," muttered Ginny, handing over a crisp twenty pound note.

"Ta," said the girl. Ginny purposefully did not acknowledge the girl's hopeful eye on the tip basket, and swept over to a window seat. She sipped her cappuccino, reclining in the silver chair.

It was funny, she thought. When the war started, it was as though her entire world had been torn apart. All of her brothers, except for Ron, as he was too young at the time, had been recruited to fight. Bill had been killed, leaving his girlfriend Caroline, who was pregnant then, to survive on her own. Charlie had been killed, George had been condemned to a wheelchair for life, as he lost both his legs. Although her father had been too old to be called out, his office had been bombed by the Death Eaters, killing huge numbers of the Ministry workers. Ginny's mother had never recovered from the shock of losing two of her sons and her husband, and gave up the will to live three months later. By the time the war ended, a year later, there were so few witches and wizards left, that their entire way of living had been damaged beyond repair. The Dark Lord was still lurking, able to attack again at any time. The Ministry for Magic was in disarray. Of course, it hardly helped matters that Dumbledore had died a year before the war started, when Ginny was in the fifth year. He just slipped away in his sleep, taking with him the only wizard that Voldemort had ever truly feared. The few people who had survived, who had an importance in the Ministry, issued a statement to all the remaining witches and wizards. They were to take up new lives as Muggles. The Ministry removed each and every wand in the country, and burnt them. 

It had been hard enough for Ginny, but far, far harder for her parent's generation. They couldn't contemplate the thought of living as Muggles, and many killed themselves in despair. The younger ones bought homes in the Muggle community, rid their memories of all their magical training, and started over, in hiding from the Dark Lord. 

It had been hard, of course it had, particularly with both of her parents dead in such a short space of time. Very quickly Ginny lost contact with her friends from Hogwarts. People were too scared to write to each other, in the aftermath of the disaster. They knew that the Death Eaters and Voldemort were perfectly capable of striking again, and the terror took a long time to die down.

But people are very good at adapting in extreme conditions. Ginny looked back on her days at Hogwarts as though through a mist. It all seemed like a dream; despite the fact that she had grown up with it all her life. And now, six years since the war had ended, she could barely remember a single thing she had been taught. It was as though she had forgotten it all on purpose, to protect herself. 

She had no idea where any of her remaining brothers were. Well, she knew in theory where Percy was, of course. The traitorous scumbag. Who would have thought it? Prefect Percy, in ally with the dark side, since he was twenty? The last person you would have thought of… Percy, a Death Eater - it still seemed ludicrous now. It still hurt more than words could express; the fact that her own brother had helped massacre half of her family. 

To Ginny's surprise, she felt a solitary tear slip down her foundationed cheek, and she quickly swabbed at it with a tissue. I thought I was over it now, she thought. 

Ron had been the last one she lost touch with. She could still recall that last phone-call in her memory, Ron's empty voice, and her crying silently on the end of the phone.

__

"I'm not going to ring you again, Gin… It's Ministry law, now. It's too dangerous, I'd be putting us both in great danger…"

The last she's heard, all of the Weasleys had been scattered right across the country. Ron had gone to live in Drumnadrochit, a small town near Inverness. He had always loved the rugged Scottish countryside. Fred was caring for George in Manchester. Caroline, the girlfriend of Bill, had bought a cottage home by the sea in Weymouth, Devon. She had had the baby, and had called her Sara. Ginny knew that it was highly unlikely that she would ever see her niece. Sara would be going on seven, now.

That was where they had all moved to initially. God knows, six years later, where they would be now. That last phone call to Ron had been about five years ago. Anything could have happened to any of them. She simply had no idea. 

I hadn't been that hard, establishing herself as a Muggle. She had no qualifications, of course, OWLs were hardly accepted on a par with GCSEs. So, for about a year, she went to evening classes, to learning typing and office skills, which thankfully she excelled at. Ginny recalled that first, long year, working her fingers to the bone in a variety of dead end jobs, to scrape some money together. She had the gold that she'd inherited from her parents, of course, but that was hardly anything. The emergency funds that the Ministry had handed out to every surviving witch and wizard in their ration packet, along with instructions about how to survive as a Muggle, and some food vouchers, had been quite generous, and had paid for her evening classes. It would have been so easy to blow the lot on clothes and food, perhaps even drugs, but Ginny had gained more sense in her adolescence than most, and used it wisely. 

She had lived in a Bed and Breakfast for the first few months. That had been hell. The room had been tiny; literally one bed shoved up against a wall, a chest of drawers made out of rotting wood, and a table lamp, with no table to put it on. There had been one communal bathroom for all of her floor; about fifteen people. It had been filthy, the sheets were dirty, and there were rats and cockroaches crawling everywhere. Ginny had nearly gone mad. And then, when she plucked up the courage to go to the local one night, she'd met Pan. 

Pan was what could only be described as a hippie. He had long hair in dread-locks, despite the fact that he was as white as milk. It seemed that every part of him was covered with piercings. He wore clothes nicked from Camden Market; long hand knitted tops, and loose white trousers that trailed on the ground. His trademark was his rainbow scarf that he wore at all times. Ginny had fallen in love with him at first sight, and Pan had with Ginny. He lived in a squat, with three other people, two men and a woman. 

Shine and Starr were both Buddhists. Ginny was pretty sure that Shine wasn't his real name, although she knew that Starr had been named that since birth, having been blessed with Generation X parents, who apparently had been constantly stoned all through Starr's childhood. Starr had always been polite to Ginny, though never friendly. Ginny had always had the sneaking suspicion that she saw Ginny as a threat. The other member of the 'household' was Martie, a lovely bloke, who was terribly shy. Ginny barely remembered him saying a word directly to her, although he always smiled off into the distance, somewhere behind her left ear. He was completely mad, but totally harmless, and was extremely popular with all who knew him.

When Pan heard that Ginny was staying in the local Bed and Breakfast hotel, he invited her to come and shack up with them, and Ginny readily agreed. Nothing could be worse than where she was staying. 

Ginny lost her virginity to Pan, and had never regretted it. She really, really loved him, despite all his faults - and of those there were many. All four smoked hash, and Starr and Pan were on cocaine too. They never used heroine, whilst Ginny was staying with them, and she'd often looked back on that time, and wondered if they eventually got onto the big time. She'd seen it happen so many times with other people. 

While Ginny was staying with Pan and the others, she got a secretarial job at a PR company. All those evening classes had finally paid off. It was badly paid, but a steady job, and Ginny increasingly felt trapped and revolted in the squat, as she saw the lives her colleagues led. And then, one day, she got back to the squat, and found Pan dead. He'd taken an overdose of cocaine, and snuffed it. With Pan's death, Ginny found the escape route to her next rung on the ladder. With her small salary, she had managed to save a few bob, and she moved into a flat-share, with a few other people her age. 

Ginny learnt quickly at work. She soon realised some of the short-cuts you could take, and she did not have a problem with taking them. Her boss at that time, a Peter Bateman, showed an unlikely interest in her, and Ginny turned up to work, wearing increasingly short skirts. She slept with him, and got promoted the next week. 

This was the way Ginny flew up the carrier ladder. Of course, it helped a great deal that she had a natural ability for the work, but it was plain to see, looking back, that she would still be floundering now, back in the bed and breakfasts and the secretarial jobs with extortionate pay, if she had not been willing to kiss a few men along the way. 

And now, of course, she was sleeping with David. She didn't love him, or even like him. Of course she fancied him, what woman wouldn't? It had all paid off. She had a beautiful flat in the City (furnished entirely by Harrods), a huge wardrobe full of designer freebies, an excellent ,stable job, with all the trimmings, she had sexual fulfillment of course… 

It was funny. She had thought that the Dark Lord had ruined her life forever. In fact, it gave her the start in life that most could only dream of. She _did_ miss her brothers, though… And her old friends.

Ginny shook herself awake from her daydreaming. Her cappuccino had gone cold. Ginny spooned up the last of the almond cream from the plate, and licked the fork clean. She was just picking up her gorgeous scarlet Fiorelli coat, and getting ready to go back to work, when she noticed someone come into _Pret_. 

He was tall, with ruffled dark hair, and an immaculately cut suit - John Roche, thought Ginny instantly. He looked very, very familiar, but Ginny couldn't place him. She picked up her handbag, and walked towards the door. The man lifted his eyes to meet hers, and Ginny saw the jolt of realisation in his face at the exact second she realised who it was.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, just as he said; "Ginny!"

To be continued… 


	2. Dancing Queen

Dancing Queen

Author's Note: Yes, this is the next part in my series of insanity, 'Of Cabbages and Kings', which is a quote from Lewis Caroll's Alice in Wonderland. The Abba songs belong to Abba, strangely enough, and Karma Chameleon belongs to Culture Club, a fab 80's band. All HP related stuff sadly has nothing to do with me, but belongs to JK Rowling. (Although increasingly Warner Brothers too, grrr, bite) Don't take this too seriously, ok guys? It's just a bit of fun. All the same, I'll have my bumper bag of marshmallows ready, for all you flamers out there…

Filled with a mixture of trepidation and intrigue, Ginny followed Harry across the threshold. The flat was vaguely reminiscent of Pan's squat, from all those years ago, although it did not have the pervading smell of a mixture of incense sticks and hash smoke. The magnolia paint was chipping and flaking from the walls, revealing 1960's concrete walls. The old battered table looked as though it had survived at least two world wars, and the plain steel sink in the corner of the kitchen was piled high with dirty plates and cutlery. It was a very typical bachelor pad. 

Strangely, Ginny felt tongue-tied. She hadn't seen Harry for years, and it felt like lifetimes. Everything had changed irreversibly, and it was as though she had become entrapped in a time-warp. Harry's features had changed a great deal. His chin was stronger, his eyes deeper, and he had an overall essence of manhood, that had been missing in his teenage years. Ginny felt long-hidden stirrings in her mind and heart. She had forgotten just how he made her feel. 

"Nice cuppa Rosie?" Harry asked, an unmistakable East-end accent tinting in his voice. He stood up to make them a cup of tea each. Ginny watched him pour boiling water onto teabags from a cracked aubergine Bentalls kettle, and thought of her own sleek, silver Russell and Hobbs. 

"Thanks," she said, cupping the mug with her freshly-manicured fingers. She noticed it had a chip in it, and there was a faded picture of Rupert the Bear on the side. 

"How are you?" Harry asked, leaning back in his chair to observe her. Ginny had to think for a second before she replied, careful not to sound boastful. 

"Oh, well, you know. Can't complain."

Harry glanced up and down, taking in the Chanel suit, and the Rolex on her wrist. "It looks like you've done very well for yourself." He took a self-conscious swig of tea, and picked up his glasses from the table, and polished them on his sleeve. Ginny noted that he had swapped his owlish NHS monstrosities for an all-together more stylish pair of frames, although they looked suspiciously Dolland and Aitcheson. Ah well, she thought. You can't have everything. 

"Nice suit," said Ginny, and immediately cringed, for as soon as she heard herself speak, she knew how naff the words sounded. Harry, of course, saw through it in an instant. He grinned boyishly.

"I know, it doesn't quite fit the image of this place, does it!" he said, sweeping an arm around, gesturing at the cramped, dirty flat. "I had a job interview today; I borrowed the suit off of Draco."

Ginny's brain didn't connect the name with the memories for a second. Then it hit her. "Draco!" she exclaimed. "You're still in contact with _Draco Malfoy_!"

Harry glanced down at his glasses, and polished them on his sleeve again. "Yeah," he said, a half-smile on his face. "Who would have thought it, hey?"

Ginny thought she noted something in Harry's voice that she could not quite pin down. 

"So… did you get it?" she asked politely. Harry looked momentarily confused.

"Er… get it?" he asked, almost bashfully.

"The job? The one you went to the interview for?"

"Oh, right!" Harry looked relieved. "Nah, but then I didn't expect to. It was too posh for me."

It was then that Ginny became painfully conscious of her upper-class, BBC-newsreader English accent, in marked contrast to Harry's London speech. There's a turn-up for the books, she thought. At school, she had always been teased mercilessly for having a 'common' accent. She quickly downed the last of her tea, and toyed with the heavy china mug. 

"How's Ron?" Harry asked, and Ginny's face clouded darkly. 

"I… I haven't spoken to him for years. Or the rest of my brothers. I was ostracized from them, because of the Ministry regulations. How did you manage to keep in contact with Malf- Draco?"

Harry laughed. "You can call him Malfoy if it's easier," he said, shaking back his dark hair out of his eyes. "Well, like you, I lost contact with everyone after the war, something I always regretted. I've spent all these years in London; in the East-end, mainly… doing this and that. I met Draco by chance, in a club as it happens." He fished out a slightly bent cigarette from the pocket in his scuffed donkey jacket, and lit it with a smiley-face lighter. He seemed to remember himself suddenly, and asked; "Would you like one?"

"I've got my own, but thanks." Ginny fished in her Fiorelli handbag for her packet of Silk Cut. "Filthy habit," she muttered to herself.

"I know," said Harry, and Ginny was startled. She hadn't realised he had heard. Harry grinned at her, and Ginny felt the breath catch in her throat, watching him effortlessly blow out a couple of blue-grey smoke rings.

"I really should give up," he said, pensively, pondering the pale yellow stains on his fingers from the tobacco. 

"It's always something to put off until next year," said Ginny. "I feel exactly the same." She lit a silk cut, but did not raise it to her lips. She glanced at her watch.

"Shit. Harry, I'm really sorry, I have to get back to work; I've got a meeting in quarter of an hour…" She trailed off, feeling overly self-important.

"No prob. Can I meet you sometime?" he asked. "We ought to stay in touch."

Ginny stuttered. "Harry, it's breaking Ministry rules; bad enough that you and Malfoy are in touch, let alone me as well…"

Harry stubbed out his Marlboro straight onto the table top. "Bollocks to the Ministry, Ginny. It's been seven years. And I doubt that one meeting between a witch and a wizard will single-handedly bring about world war three."

Ginny sighed. "Just once, Harry. Where and when? I know this nice little place-"

Harry cut her off. "Leicester Square station, seven PM, tonight."

"Okay, then." Ginny picked up her coat, and made for the door. As she put her hand on the latch, she felt Harry put his hand on her arm. 

"See you tonight," he said.

Ginny walked home in a bit of a daze. On auto-pilot, she wandered to the nearest station, and fished out her weekly travel-card from her pocket.

Sitting on the train, she flicked through the Metro, but was not actually reading it. Harry had changed enormously. Not just his looks, but his whole demeanor. She wondered where he would take her tonight. One of her favourite clubs, the Red Cube, was in Leicester Square; Madonna and Guy had been spotted there the other week. But somehow, she didn't think that was Harry's scene. Ginny fretted over the problem of what to wear. It would be terrible to underdress - but a whole lot worse to overdress. Imagine turning up in a shot-silk sheath dress, to find Harry was taking her to a lorry-driver café. Surely not. Even Harry, in his ripped Ben Sherman shirt and battered old donkey jacket, would take her somewhere nice. Anyway, what was the problem? She could always tactfully suggest the Red Cube or similar, instead…

*

It was a light summer evening, and unusually even London had produced a few sun beams for once. Ginny had just slipped a denim jacket (Donna Karan) over a pale cream summer slip dress; strappy and filmy, just how Ginny liked her clothes. 

It had a silk poppy image just below the left shoulder. Not quite dressy enough for Red Cube, but far too overdressed for a transport café. Ginny was fashionably fifteen minutes late, and was pleased to see Harry already loitering by the station's entrance. She smiled as she saw him look up at her; and he returned the smile. Harry was wearing quite a nice outfit, she decided. He had a petrol blue-green shirt on, over plain black jeans that looked washed and ironed. 

"So," she said. "Where are we headed for?"

Harry smiled almost mischievously. "A club where Draco works," he said. "It's not far from here."

"Oh, Draco's a barman, is he?" asked Ginny conversationally. Harry chose not to make a reply, and Ginny felt slightly snubbed, and turned her attention to the places they were passing. They walked past the Hippodrome, a large Haigan Dazs café, many dodgy looking people selling cut price tickets to the biggest shows on in the West End.

"Mamma Mia!" shouted a man, who stepped right into her path. "Two ticket for Mamma Mia for you and your boyfriend? Twenty-five quid the pair! Go on, Miss, lovely night out!" 

Ginny carefully side-stepped him. 

"Don't worry," said Harry cryptically. "You'll get plenty of Abba tonight."

"What?" exclaimed Ginny, images of Abba kariokes swarming her vision. She started to feel a twinge of trepidation. What the hell was she letting herself in for?

They walked down Leicester Square, past the Trocadero, and into China town, the row of shops and restaurants all with the Asian theme. 

"Harry? Where are we going? We've passed all the clubs in Leicester Square. Harry!"

Harry merely smiled obnoxiously, and carried on walking. Ginny suddenly realised with horror that they were heading for Soho.

"Here we are," said Harry, stopping eventually outside a building painted all in black. A pink neon sign proclaimed the name 'Fernando's'. Ginny racked her brain, but could not honestly say that she had ever heard of it. Harry chivalrously opened the door for Ginny, who walked timorously in. 

She was immediately hit by a blast of 'Super Trouper'. Walking into the smoky club, she grabbed Harry's arm. This was almost frightening. She was used to light, airy clubs, with cocktail bars and fine company. This club was almost entirely populated by men, many large, burly types, drinking beer. 

"Drink?" asked Harry.

"Vodka and coke, please," she muttered quietly. It was just as well that Harry was adept at lip-reading, as the booming music quashed her voice entirely. Ginny hurriedly followed him to the bar, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. 

She took a huge gulp of her drinking, feeling the need for Dutch courage. Harry sipped his Boddingtons, and regarded her silently. Ginny turned to where the music was coming from. At the back of the club was a rickety stage. Two tall girls were dancing on it to the Abba music. One, a particularly striking girl, was dressed in blue satin flares, knee-high silver boots, and a little blue beaded hat. The other was wearing a frizzy brunette wig, and a white shirt and peasant red skirt, and a red scarf was tied around her neck. They were both milking it for all it was worth, gyrating hips and pouty lips akimbo. Ginny turned to look at Harry, who was just lifting his arm to wave at the stage. The blonde girl waved back, and blew a kiss. Ginny felt a strange twist in her heart.

"Do you know her? The one pretending to be the blonde from Abba?"

"She was called Agnetha," said Harry distractedly. He laughed suddenly, and looked at Ginny, grinning. "You're more gullible than you look!" he said, and Ginny fumed.

"What on earth do you mean?" she ranted. 

"There aren't that many girls that tall, darling," he said, and led her into the middle of the room, where many people were dancing. Ginny suddenly realised, and blushed vermilion. 

As 'Gimme, Gimme, Gimme a Man After Midnight' ended, to rapturous applause, the Agnetha look-a-like leapt off the stage athletically, and bounded up to Harry and Ginny.

"Hello darling," she said in a deep voice, and kissed Harry on both cheeks. "Glad you could make it." Agnetha took off her blonde wig, to reveal short blonde hair, with a green streak in it. Ginny stared at her for several seconds.

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline. "What the _hell_?"

Draco swept down and planted a kiss on Ginny's cheek, leaving a scarlet lipstick-print on her skin. "Well, if it isn't young Ron Weasley's little sis!" he exclaimed, and howled with laughter. "How _are _you these days? Got yourself a fella?" He laughed uproariously. "Love the dress! Where's it from? I could do with a new summer outfit, as it happens…"

"It was a one-off from a little Parisian designer," said Ginny faintly, and she gripped Harry's arm to steady herself. 

"Ahh. That _is _a shame. That colour would have suited me, what do you reckon?" He gave a petulant twirl. "Anyway." He placed a manicured hand on Harry's sleeve. "I must dash darlings, I'm on again in five. Toodle-pip!"

Ginny dragged Harry over to a table at the corner of the room, where she slumped shakily into a chair. "Harry!" she shrieked under her breath. "Why in the name of arse did you not tell me before hand? That was monumentally embarrassing!"

Harry laughed throatily. "I thought I'd surprise you," he said, and chuckled. 

Ginny looked at her lap, willing the lingering blush to dissolve from her cheeks. She breathed out heavily. "So… is he… is Draco…?"

"A transvestite?" Harry finished for her. "Transvestite - no. Gay - yes. He just dresses like that for performances in clubs. That's how he ekes out a living."

Ginny looked hard at Harry. "You two look very close," she said carefully. Harry, of course, saw what she was getting at instantly.

"No, I'm not gay, or bisexual. But I am bi-curious."

Ginny felt the words tumble out of mouth before she could stop them. "Sada - Big Brother. Right?"

"You were a closet fan too?" Harry laughed. "I think Anna should have won…"

Suddenly, a familiar guitar twang because audible, which was then added to by a harmonica.

"Ahh," grinned Harry. "Draco's swan song."

Ginny looked eagerly towards the stage; and was not disappointed. Draco burst onto the stage, dressed as Boy George, with multi-coloured Bo Derek braids, a Tinky Winky-esq top hat, and a ruffled white shirt. He was coated in jewelllery and make-up. A roar of applause came up from the crowd. Draco grabbed the mike. 

"Desert loving in your eyes, all the way," he sang heartily. Ginny got a fit of giggles. 

"I'm a man without conviction. I'm a man who doesn't know. How to sell a contradiction. You come and go. You come and go…"

Harry laughed. "He always does this one last," he shouted to Ginny over the blasting music. Ginny watched Draco prance about on stage, obviously loving every minute.

"Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon! You come and go, you come and go. Loving would be easy if your colours were like my dreams… Red gold and green…"

Draco pulled the mike out of its stand, and he screwed up his face in a look of acute pain. "Every day is like suuur-vival," he belted out soulfully. "You're my lover, not my riiiii-val…"

Everyone got on their feet for the chorus, and Harry grabbed Ginny around the waist, and pushed her onto the dance-floor.

"I so glad I found you, Gin," he slurred.

"You've had a few too many, Harry!" she shouted back. Harry merely smiled and danced her up and down, treading on her toes. They turned to look at the stage as the song ended. Draco let out a whoop, and jumped in the air to do the splits.

"Ouch!" said Ginny. 'That must have hurt…"

Draco bounded over to them, bursting through the adoring audience who were trying to hold him back. "What did ya think?" he asked. 

"Fantassic!" bubbled Ginny enthusiastically, who had had one too many herself. 

"Why thank you, darling! I was think of doing 'It's Raining Men', next time, though. What do you reckon?"

To be continued…


End file.
